


we still are made of greed

by inirwinwethrust (theia)



Series: demons [1]
Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: I dont, M/M, POV First Person, anyway read it, or 2nd person who knows, this is a letter and thats all i have to say
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-06 09:07:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3128978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theia/pseuds/inirwinwethrust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>I love you so much, Calum. You are my everything. You are the reason that I'm alive right now, the sole cause of my happiness. I can't bear to see you like this anymore, hurting yourself, trying to </i>kill<i> yourself, because you are the most wonderful person I have ever met. You're the person who talked to me on the first day of grade school because you thought I looked lonely; you're the person who helped me get through my first break-up; you're the person who I've been with all these years and you never ever failed to give me your all, and what did I do for you in return? I became selfish. And I'm not gonna be selfish anymore, Calum.</i></p><p>
  <i>Please don't look for me.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Michael.</i>
</p><p>(or, Michael's goodbye letter to Calum)</p>
            </blockquote>





	we still are made of greed

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea why I wrote this *cries*

Calum.

I don't know why I'm doing this—I don't know why I'm doing anything at all, why I'm still walking this earth, why I keep letting you down. But I know that you're the one who's keeping me sane, and I know that I'm probably gonna ruin so many years of friendship and a slight instance of something even more, but please hear me out.

A few years ago, on my sixteenth birthday, I received a gift. It was wrapped in red art paper, with the words  _Happy Birthday!_ written in big black letters at the front. I knew you were looking at me oddly; I just dyed my hair black and got my ears pierced, and I probably looked more sad than happy that day. But I was actually ecstatic, and it was obvious when you snatched the gift from my hands with your brows furrowed together that you were worried about something.

"Who's it from?" You asked, twirling the gift around. There was no sender, and later you gave it back with a defeated sigh.

"Open it?" You said, practically  _begged_ , and I asked what was wrong.

You didn't answer. I knew then that you were keeping something from me, but I didn't question it until later when I opened the gift in the confines of my bedroom, and saw the piece of paper that changed the way I looked at you. I could still remember what it said; the words were burned in my mind from that day forth.

_I know you're in love with Calum_

I remember laughing, because I  _wasn't gay, Jesus._ But this one thought started nagging me as I put the box away and buried my face in my pillow:  _Am I in love with my best friend?_

I didn't know—at that time, at least. But what I do know is that the next day, you showed up at my house at seven in the morning like always, but there was something different. You were chewing on your bottom lip, a habit I probably picked up from you, when we started walking to school.

"Hey," I said, trying to sound casual, "something wrong?"

"It's nothing." I saw the fight drain out of you. Your shoulders slumped, and you sighed. "It's just... my girlfriend broke up with me."

"Girlfriend?" I frowned. "How come you never told me about her?"

You always told me about your relationships, Calum. What happened?

"Because," you paused to look at me uncertainly, "I didn't think you'd like it."

"Wouldn't like what? The fact that you're in a relationship?" I said, jokingly, but I was pondering something:  _since when did you keep anything from me?_ It might have showed, because then you stopped walking, hands shoved deep into your pockets.

"Yeah."

I didn't understand at the time. But then you started walking again, and I lagged behind, and I saw the hickey peeking just above your shirt collar and jealousy flared up in my gut, and I guess I realized what you were implying. That you knew I liked you, even though I didn't know it myself.

We never spoke about it after that. But every night before I slept, I kept asking myself:  _Am I in love with Calum?_

One day I woke up knowing the answer to that question:  _Yes, I do._

And it terrified me. Even though you already knew, even though I know you won't leave despite the fact that I have amorous feelings for you, but the fear was still there. I did so many things to try and expel it from my system, to tell myself that it was normal to fall for someone as good as you, but it wasn't as simple as walking up to you and blurting out my feelings and expecting you to understand.

So I tried different things. Drinking, smoking—until it turned into hooking up with strangers, nameless faces who could never ever compare to you, and I started going to these places in a part of the town I could never tell you about, but after two years of doing this I forgot what I was trying to drown out: was it the fear of losing you, or my feelings for you?

And you never opposed me. You asked me to hang out from time to time, but not as often as you used to; you asked me where I was going at one in the morning on a school day, and I always smiled and shot the question back at you. We still talked, but you started hanging out with other people.  _Older_ people, college guys who smoked weed and drank until they could barely stand, and I understood your need to mingle with people who aren't  _me_ , and even though it hurts I knew I had to let you go.

So during the nights I felt lonely I'd grab my wallet and go out and resist the urge to call you, but even with a warm body beside me it was still different.

On New Year's Eve, you invited me to a party.

"It's a frat party!" You said over the phone, excitement dripping from your every word. "Come on, Mikey, you  _have_ to go!"

"Yeah, alright." You didn't know it, but I already opened a beer can and started drinking my feelings away. I couldn't stand the thought of seeing you with another one of  _those girls_ —the ones with the big chests and caked-on makeup; the girls that you happened to  _like_. "But you have to pick me up."

"Of course." You laughed. I could hear you opening your door and your car keys tinkling in your hand. "I'll be there in two."

I hung up and got ready. I threw on the usual; a shirt, jeans, sneakers. The other clothes in my closet are the ones I wear to those other places I go to, the ones you could never know about.

You invited me to frat parties before, when you call at an early hour and I always answer because it's  _you_ who's calling, but that was the only time I actually went.

I lost you the second we stepped through the wooden double doors of the tall brick building. The frat was  _Omega_ something something. I pushed down the hurt and squeezed through sweaty bodies to look for company, and I guess I found it in Ashton. He tapped on my shoulder as I wandered into the living room, and soon I was tangling a hand in his curls as he planted his lips on mine.

You found us hooking up in a bedroom upstairs; I heard you laughing, saw you opening the door as you kissed another one of your girls, but as soon as you saw us tangled on the bed, you froze. I could see the anger in your eyes as you tore him away from me, fingers digging harshly into my arm, and almost permanently broke his nose. You practically  _pummeled_ his face with your fists, and when he started fighting back I had to call for help from one of those bulky guys in the hallway to break the fight.

I scrambled towards him as he crumpled to the floor and started muttering apologies, but you pulled me away. You shoved my clothes in my chest and barked out, "We're leaving" with a bleeding lip and a black eye.

You swore so much on the drive home that I plugged in my earphones and tuned you out with the sound of All Time Low. Then you stopped the car in front of my house but as I tried to open it I couldn't get out; the car door was locked.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" You hissed out. I felt anger rise to my chest.

"What the fuck were  _you_ thinking?!" I shot back. "We were just having a good time. You didn't have to fucking break his face."

"You were having  _sex_ with him—" You tried to argue, but I've had enough.

"So what?!" I held back my tears. You have no idea what you did that night, did you, Calum? "I'm  _gay_  and I like it up the ass, and if you don't like that then you can fucking  _go to hell_."

You fell silent as I let the tears roll down my cheeks, hot and horrid. You unlocked the car door and I hurried through my empty house and to my room.

We didn't talk to each other until your birthday, when I swallowed my pride and went to your party. You invited me through a text; I don't remember the exact words, but what you said somehow compelled me to go. Even when I saw you shoving your tongue down a random girl's throat in the kitchen, I stayed and mingled with your so-called friends. I waited for you to notice that I was  _right there_ , a few counters away, standing right next to that Luke guy with the lip ring.

When you _did_ see me, you quickly pushed her away and shuffled towards me.

"Michael." You breathed out. Your lips, red and bruised, turned up into a smile. "I didn't think you'd come."

"Well I did." I tried to smile back as I handed you your gift. "Here, this is for you."

"Thank you." You said, pulling me into a hug. "And I'm so sorry, Mikey."

"It's okay."

It wasn't, really. I was still confused, but you were willing to mend the tear in our friendship, so I set my confusion aside and hugged you back. It felt so good to be in your arms again.

Later that night, you drank a bit too much. There was a massive bonfire in your backyard, drunk teenagers and scruffy twenty-somethings sitting around it in a circle, and when I looked for a place to sit you grabbed my arm and pulled me down to you.

"Sit." You said. I did, beside you.

Then you drank. Three bottles, five bottles,  _eight_ bottles. Your hand shot out to grab another, but I pushed it away from the case. You glared at me, but your anger was short-lived. Soon you were pulling me in your arms, settling me between your legs, chin resting on my recently-dyed-red hair.

"I missed you." Your words were a drunken slur, but I understood. I understood perfectly well.

The next day before school, you were ringing the doorbell at seven. I hurriedly washed my hair and tore downstairs to see you sitting on the front steps, nursing your head in your hands.

I offered you medicine for the massive hangover you undoubtedly had by way of saying hello, but you just shook your head and smiled.

"Ready to go?" You asked, holding both straps of your bag like a little kid. You said it so nonchalantly, like you didn't stop walking with me to school two years ago. I smiled and nodded. And just like that, everything was back to normal again.

Or so I thought.

Around the end of February, you showed up at my house in the middle of the afternoon, wearing a vest and a pair of sunglasses that was probably mine once.

"Hey." You greeted as I went outside. I was wearing nothing but boxers, having only woken up at that time, and I swore I saw your cheeks darken.

"Hey, what's up?" You do that sometimes, showing up at my house without a prior text or call. It was always because of a recent break-up or a sudden whim to talk to me in person, and we'd always end up huddled together on the couch watching reruns of The Walking Dead.

It was different this time.

"Ashton asked me to hang out." You said, albeit a bit sourly when you mentioned Ashton's name. "We're meeting at the mall with his friend, I thought I'd ask you to come."

"Why?" I didn't notice that I suddenly got defensive. I didn't know why, either—and you obviously didn't as well.

"Well—I just thought..." You spluttered out. I saw your hands curl into fists—were you angry? It never showed. "I thought you'd want to see him again."

I fell silent. I admit, I like seeing the fear in your eyes. It makes me feel like this fear in my chest is the same as yours—the fear of losing your best friend.

I nodded once and turned on my heel. I got ready in record time, and the ride to the mall was absolutely silent.

I admit, seeing Ashton again gave me some semblance of happiness, but it was fleeting. His face was almost back to its normal hue, save for the abnormally dark spot underneath his left eye. He smiled at me, dimples showing, and stood up from the bench the moment he saw us approaching.

"Hey."

I didn't expect what he did next. He pecked me on the lips, right there in the middle of the mall amidst hundreds of people,  _right in front of you_. I could see the smile on his face as he pulled away, but it changed into a smirk when you moved closer to me and rested a hand on the small of my back.

"Hey, Ashton." You said. I couldn't take my eyes off of Ashton's face, so I didn't get to see your reaction when he reached for my hand.

"Hey Calum." He said happily. "Thanks for pounding my face in, by the way. It was a night to remember."

There was a certain venom in his tone as his fingers curled around mine. I fought the heat rising to my cheeks and turned to you instead. You were looking straight ahead, at the tall blond behind Ashton who I knew by the name of Luke.

"Sorry, I was drunk." You shrugged lamely. Your tone was lifeless. "I thought you were hurting my best friend."

"I wasn't." Ashton's grin was wide and toothy. "I couldn't hurt someone as beautiful as him."

We watched a movie afterwards, all four of us, and soon Ashton was dragging me to his car and I was riding his cock in the backseat and biting my lip to keep myself from making too much noise, and that's how I started going out with him.

If you already stopped reading at this point, I don't blame you. But I'm only about halfway through, and I need you to hear me out, Calum. Please.

Around mid-March, you got a promotion at the record store you were working part time in. You dropped by my house after you texted me the news, ringing the doorbell like you always do, and I had to rub the sleep out of my eyes as I opened the door to let you in.

You made yourself comfortable on the couch as I grabbed some drinks and a bag of chips before sitting down beside you. You flipped through the channels before settling on HBO, which was playing a rerun of Game of Thrones. You knew I liked that show.

I waited for you to start talking, like I always do. Just as Joffrey's face turned grey and blood seeped out of his nose, you spoke.

"I wanna drop out."

I wasn't surprised in the slightest. You never liked studying—you see it as more of a chore than anything else. But I couldn't imagine going to school everyday without seeing you there, sitting in the lunchroom while we eat turkey sandwiches and making fun of people in the hallways after class. When I told you exactly what was on my mind, you only smiled, eyes twinkling with delight.

"I got a flat downtown." You said in that nonchalant way of yours. "Decent place, two bedrooms though. I need a roommate."

You knew I wouldn't pass up the opportunity to live with you. In two weeks we were loading boxes full of my belongings into the back of your car, and soon I set foot into the flat we shared, the place I now called  _home_. I should've known that constantly being in such close proximity to you would bring nothing but trouble.

Ashton would stop by a few times a week, and you would always throw on something decent and excuse yourself before leaving. We never did anything but talk with the TV turned on, and even then words were scarce between us.

Once, we talked about you.

"Calum," he said, playing with the numerous bracelets on his wrists, "he likes you, doesn't he?"

I didn't reply. I knew at this point in time that your ex-girlfriend was the one who gave me that life-changing gift on my sixteenth birthday, and that she broke up with you because of me. The mere thought of you returning my feelings, which were shoved deep into the pits of my heart, terrified me still.

"He does—it's obvious." I set down my plastic fork, watching his hazel eyes flit from the TV screen to my hand. He always brings food whenever he comes by, like it was his mission to feed me Kung Pao chicken whenever he could. "And it's obvious that you like him too."

"It's not like that." I fought back weakly. But Ashton was smiling, dimples carved deep into his cheeks.

"I like you." He said solemnly, seriously. He bit the inside of his cheek as he slowly scooted closer. "But it's obvious that you don't feel the same. And who am I to deprive you of true love?"

"Have you been reading romance novels again?" I laughed, but it died almost immediately.

"I'm breaking up with you, Michael." He placed his hand on my wrist, where I wrote his name earlier in class. My pulse quickened. "I hope you and Calum realize your feelings for each other."

"No." My throat was closing up. I felt tears welling up in my eyes. I knew I liked Ashton, I  _had_ to like him, but my heart was screaming your name. "No, Ashton, please don't leave me."

He tried to fight back, but I fought back harder. I thought that he was my only chance to get over you, that I would somehow forget about my feelings for you if I just kept being with him, but it didn't work.

I led him to my bedroom that night. We had sex, and as I heard the front door creak open I made sure you could hear my moans. I was gonna get over you, whether you liked it or not.

It continued for a while. The sex, I mean—but you already know this. You already know that he's in me when the door to my bedroom is locked and I'm moaning out Ashton's name like a mantra. You already know what we did the previous night when he stumbles out of the flat at eight in the morning with his clothes rumpled and his cheeks flushed. You already know, and I try to pretend that you didn't, as if that would somehow help.

By the end of May, Ashton and I were dating for three months. You were apparently against it; I always had to endure the sly words and sneers and backhand comments, but you never stopped me from going out with him until that one time.

It was the last Saturday of May, and I was on my way out to go on a date with Ashton. I was dressed in the tightest ripped jeans I owned, wearing a red and black flannel that we used to share. You grabbed my arm before I could step through the door, and gently tugged me backwards until my clothed back was pressed against your bare chest and your muscled arms were wrapped around me.

"Break up with him." You said softly, almost begged. It reminded me of when you asked me to open that present two years ago. Your lips were pressed against my temple, and I fought back the sudden surge of emotion.

"Why?" I asked. I wanted you to say it; I needed to hear it for myself.

But you kept quiet, instead turning me around by my shoulders. Suddenly your lips were on mine, soft and inviting, and I had waited  _so long_ for that moment, Calum.

Soon you dropped the towel that was wrapped around your hips and led me to your bedroom, and when I woke up the next morning to your dazzling smile I knew right then and there that in your arms is where I want to be.

But something was nagging me. I was still with Ashton, and I couldn't just cheat on him, not after everything he's done for me. It wouldn't be fair.

So I ignored you, for my own selfish reasons. You apologized to me, sinking to your knees as tears slid down your cheeks, but I wasn't mad at you, Calum—I never was. I saw the hurt in your beautiful brown eyes, so many times, and I felt like my heart was being ripped into pieces whenever you tried to reach out to me but I just turned my back to you.

I wasn't ignoring you because we had sex. I was ignoring you because I knew you returned my feelings, and the familiar fear that's been haunting me all these years has both of its slimy hands on my throat, suffocating me, telling me to  _Stop, Michael, don't ruin everything with just a quick fuck._

It continued until it was June, and I was lying in front of the couch watching Game of Thrones, my phone buzzing from Ashton's texts every few minutes. I could barely breathe from worry; you've been gone for almost two days, and I had no idea where you were.

Then the front door opened with a slam and you stumbled into the flat, Luke barely able to hold you upright. Your skin was white and there was a bleeding gash on your forehead. I rushed towards you and helped Luke carry you to your bed. You were out like a light as soon as your head hit the pillow.

"What happened?" I asked, sitting down beside you. I was almost done tending to your wound when Luke spoke.

"Drank too much." Luke said, wiping his hands on his jeans. He looked shaken. "He... he tried to jump off the balcony."

I couldn't register his words at first, but then I understood full well what he was saying. You tried to commit suicide, Calum.

I didn't notice that my hands were shaking until Luke gently pried the cotton ball from my clenched fist.

"I'm sorry if I'm butting into your business," he said, blue eyes resting on your sleeping form, "but I think he said something about wanting to jump because of... you."

"What did he say?" My voice was small, barely heard in the sudden ringing of my ears.

"He said that..." He paused, running a hand through his blond hair. "You loved Ashton and not him."

The words struck a chord. Even though you never said it out loud, I knew that you love me. And I love you too, Calum.

But the suicide attempts didn't stop there.

You kept on doing things that put me on edge. Spilling hot coffee on yourself, driving recklessly, climbing onto the roof and trying to jump. Every time, your friends told me that I was the cause of it all, that I was the reason for all of this.

I don't have to be the reason, Calum, and that's why I'm leaving.

I packed my bags already. I hope you understand that this is for you, that I'm doing this because I care about you and I need you to live and I want you to be happy.

I love you so much, Calum. You are my everything. You are the reason that I'm alive right now, the sole cause of my happiness. I can't bear to see you like this anymore, hurting yourself, trying to  _kill_ yourself, because you are the most wonderful person I have ever met. You're the person who talked to me on the first day of grade school because you thought I looked lonely; you're the person who helped me get through my first break-up; you're the person who I've been with all these years and you never ever failed to give me your all, and what did I do for you in return? I became selfish. And I'm not gonna be selfish anymore, Calum.

Please don't look for me.

Michael.


End file.
